


cherries and cedar

by aglowSycophant



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Fluff, Other, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aglowSycophant/pseuds/aglowSycophant
Summary: "Fine, fine," they agree, "Strike me and I'll strike back. I expect the same, so let's not get to that point."Aryel nods and holds out his hand.It takes it and stands.Four times it's little gestures and one time it's words.
Relationships: Aryel Elsana/Styydir || It, Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	cherries and cedar

_ i. _

It doesn't know where they are when they wake up. They are in a room, with sore limbs. The floor is hard. It is dark.

It cannot see very well.

Bound together with rope they cannot break. A fuzzy feeling in their head. A tingling in their throat. Thirst.

"Who are you?" comes his voice.

Rich, masculine. A little raspy – parched. It blinks and cants their head to the source as a crate comes sliding their way.

He sheds his restraints easily. It is not so lucky.

"It," they answer after a moment of searching – realizing that they lacked a name at all. "Who are you?"

"Aryel," he mutters brusquely as he cuts them free. "Do you know where we are?"

It rubs at their wrists and blinks.

"No. I can't recall a thing."

But he looks familiar. Why, It cannot say.

"I don't remember why we're here," he mumbles, steadying himself against the wall, "Or if you're trustworthy or anything, but I don't know where the hell we are, or how many people I'm going to have to kill to get out of here, so... Truce? I don't kill you, you don't kill me – at least, until we get out of wherever we are?"

It blinks and considers the offer.

"Fine, fine," they agree, "Strike me and I'll strike back. I expect the same, so let's not get to that point."

Aryel nods and holds out his hand.

It takes it and stands.

* * *

_ ii. _

It sits down on their bed and drops their disguise. Long locks of pale white hair flow out from their scalp, Surge's algae-colored hair falling to the ground around them. They bought a comb earlier – a little cheap, but good enough, with a back-up in case it broke. They don't say anything as they work, just brush and relax as Aryel quietly sings to himself as he gets ready to sleep.

It decides they rather like Aryel's voice.

Ten minutes in, and Aryel's song grows a little softer. A minute more, and it stops.

It cracks open an eye to look at him, and note that he's staring.

"Aryel," It asks, "Are you okay?"

"Oh," Aryel says, like he's surprised he was caught, "Yeah. I'm alright." He punctuates it with one of his funny little nods, the fast and shallow sort, and a gentle smile that fits his face. "Why?"

"You were." It pauses to correct themself. "Are staring."

His eyes widen and dart away, red dusting his face.

"Sorry," Aryel mumbles, fingers curling into the sheets of his bed, "You... Have a lot of hair, is all. And you looked peaceful."

"Oh," says It, "Okay."

Silence settles over the two. The room is quiet save for the sound of the comb.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

"Mm?"

"Your hair, I mean. You... Have so much, that I'm just curious," Aryel explains.

It thinks about it.

Their hair... It's a veil from the rest of the world. A skin without a skin, a disguise without a disguise. It's protection, a blanket, a shield – a comforting reminder, a keepsake.

"I do," they answer.

"Oh," Aryel says. A few seconds pass. He asks, "Do you want help brushing it?"

It considers.

"Well," they say, and blink, "Okay."

Aryel lets out a little laugh, soft and melodic like the rest of him, like he's thrilled with their answer. He stands and sits beside them, gingerly taking the comb from their hand as their fingers brush, and quietly says, "Turn towards me?"

It obliges. He moves them slightly, hands resting at their sides, just a bit above their hip. They lean forward some, head resting against his shoulder, and Aryel tenses – a sort of soft noise beneath his breath, but before It can ask, he's brushing, and so much more gently than It was brushing before.

"I like your hair," Aryel says eventually. "It's soft."

"...Thank you," It mumbles. Aryel is warm, they think, and he smells nice. Like cedar, and cherries, and herbs. Like Aryel.

"I... Remember," he continues, "That light hair was supposed to be good luck. That it meant the gods smiled down upon you." His touch is gentle, his fingers deft. It lets their eyes lid shut. "I don't know if it's true, but I... I think it's a nice thing to think about."

It doesn't feel any particular way about the sentiment, but they let out a quiet hum regardless.

"And... I don't know," Aryel says with a laugh, "But I think what I'm trying to say is... I like your hair. It's pretty. Y..." But his voice trails off and he clears his throat – "Yeah."

It knows that's not what he was going to say, but they don't want to press.

Quietly, It comments, "You smell really nice," and, "Thank you."

"...You're welcome," Aryel says after a moment, his tone soft.

It falls asleep like that, leaning against him, and they wake up in the morning with their head resting on his chest, the comb sitting beside them. Aryel is snoring softly, and It notices a weight to their head as they turn it.

A cursory glance in the mirror reveals tens of intricate little braids.

"It's an Elvish custom," he explains later. "Braiding hair, I mean. I'm sorry if I–"

"Pumpkin," It says, and Aryel goes quiet, "It's fine. I think it's pretty."

Aryel smiles.

* * *

_ iii. _

It is cutting carrots.

They like cooking, It decides. It's peaceful, it's productive, and it lets them use their hands. Additionally, it's solitary. It's something they do when they want to unwind.

Today has been stressful. It thinks they deserve a little time to unwind.

Stew, they're making. Rabbit stew, with rice, with a new cooking set they bought a week before. The spices had been expensive. It had to save up for them, but they're happy with it.

In the other room, they hear Aryel practicing with his lyre. He composes his own songs, sometimes, and this one is of spring breezes and blue skies, of the beauty of nature itself.

Aryel has been practicing for the better part of an hour, trying line after line, melody after melody, searching for one that sticks. He's close, It thinks, to getting it. Looking at their carrots, there are about five left.

It's close to getting it too.

But Aryel stops, and It hears the gentle sound of his setting down his lyre and the shuffling of papers as he sets them aside. They hear footsteps growing louder until he's in the kitchen itself, and they hear him speak – "Hey, It. Whatcha making?"

"Stew," they answer, continuing to chop. "Rabbit stew."

"Ooh," he says, "Sounds good." Aryel's standing right behind them, watching them work. After a small bout of silence, he asks, "You need a hand?"

"I've got two of my own," It answers.

Aryel pauses and responds, "Well, hey! Whaddya know, I've got two, too!"

It glances over their shoulder at the sound of his chuckling and sees his large, dopey grin. It's almost contagious – almost, of course, and It offers a stoic nod as they go back to chopping.

"We could get it done faster," he continues, "If we work together."

"You don't have to," It says. "I mean, you were just working on a song."

"Totally different kind of work," Aryel protests, "And, besides, we can all use a hand. Even if you already have two."

It considers it.

"Do you know how to hold a knife?" they ask.

"Of course," he says.

It sets the knife down on the cutting board and steps away.

"Don't hurt yourself," It chides.

Aryel gives another stupid grin.

It likes to unwind alone, but they can make exceptions.

* * *

_ iv. _

The Than'Layisan Grand Festival goes even into the night. It has never been one for festivities, but Aryel wanted to go, and whatever Aryel wants, It obliges.

He's special, in that way. He performs that night, singing about the sky and the breeze and the sweet scent of spring. And, later yet, they spent time in a tavern, had something to eat – "I could do better than this," It mumbled at one point, receiving a hearty nod from Aryel – and a little bit to drink, but It didn't much care for the taste of mead and Aryel seemed eager to leave – "I want to see the city at night!" was his reasoning.

The streets are crowded tonight. It almost feels claustrophobic – but they have Aryel's hand in their own, warm and grounding, and they feel better about it all. Protected, It thinks.

But Aryel seems to know the capital well enough, and he's leading them somewhere and It doesn't particularly understand until they're on a balcony, looking down at the city below.

"It's pretty," It comments idly, resting their head on their hand. "Don't you think?"

In the corners of their vision, It sees Aryel offers a little nod, one of those rapid, shallow ones he gives when It's certain he's not thinking. "Yeah," he says all the same.

"It's been a while," It continues, "Since we met. Don't you think?"

Again, Aryel gives that same nod. It looks down on warm-colored lights and bustling masses.

"Yeah," he says again, "It has."

His hand is warm in theirs. Absently, they run their thumb against the back of it.

"I'm happy," they say, "That we've come this far at all."

"Yeah," Aryel says, tone a little softer.

It blinks and looks over at them. He isn't watching the city, he's watching them.

There's this sort of softness to his gaze that It can't quite place, but they look at the same – and Aryel leans forward some, and It turns away, the ghost of a smile on their lips for reasons even they're unsure about. Aryel rests his head on his arm, leaning against the railing, and they both stare quietly at the capital below.

"And I'm happy that..." It's voice trails off. They're not happy about anything in particular – they're only happy, but that in-and-of-itself is strange, to be beyond content, and... It watches the children play, with the moons high above them, and It turns towards Aryel again and catches him watching again. "I'm happy we're here, I think."

"No," Aryel says, "I feel that way too."

The two don't say anything for a bit. Simply stare. But Aryel turns back towards the city and It gives his hand a squeeze and he lets out a gentle laugh. They slide a little bit towards him.

"The city's pretty," It says. "I think."

"Yeah," Aryel mumbles, "I think so too."

"There's prettier things, though," they continue, leaning against him.

"I agree," Aryel answers.

He catches their eye, and It catches his. Aryel leans forward and It does too.

He tastes like cherries.

* * *

_ v. _

"Aryel," It asks one day, "If you had a book whose last few chapters were thrown out... Would you rather come to your own conclusions, or would you search for an intact copy?"

"Huh?" Aryel says. "Why are you... Asking? Is your book missing pages?"

It blinks and looks at their book – it's a romance novel that they don't particularly care for. They shake their head and answer, "No. It's... I'm asking, is all."

"Oh," Aryel says, and he nods, "Okay." After a few seconds, he breathes out a sigh and answers, "I don't... Know what I'd do. Why do you ask?"

It doesn't answer him – they just nod and ask, "What if it was the opposite? What if... The ending was happy, and that was all you had? Would you read the rest or come up with your own answer?"

He thinks about it some.

"...I think I'd find an intact copy," Aryel answers. "But why are you...?"

"Even if the rest of it was really sad?" they press.

Aryel contemplates and answers, "Yeah. I would, because... The ending is happy, and that makes it worth it."

It thinks about his words.

"...No," they say, "That's... A nice outlook to have."

"Why are you asking, It?" he asks again.

It blinks and looks away.

"I... The more that I remember about my past, the worse it seems," they say, "And the more I... Want to not know. But... At the same time, I... You know. I'm happy with where I am, now."

"Right," Aryel says, "I... Understand."

"...But, Aryel," It says, looking up at him. "I think that... Even if it's bad – my past, I mean – I think that... I would go through it all again, if it meant I could meet you."

Aryel stares and he doesn't laugh.

"I..." He stops himself, searching for the words. "I think I feel the same way."

"And..." It pauses. Stares. Clears their throat, and quietly admits, "I think I love you, Aryel."

"I think," he says, "I love you, too, It."

It pauses. Stares.

And laughs.


End file.
